The Sacrifices Made
by OkapiSeeks
Summary: It all starts with a clown. And a mugging. But who would mug a cop? Lassiter's gun is stolen, and Shawn's "abilities" are the key to catching the bad guy, as usual. But sometimes there is a price to be paid that even Shawn's talents can't cover. Not slash
1. Chapter 1

Psych is not mine. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Chapter 1**

"Look, Lassie-Frass, it's not my fault the clown almost got away. I told you he was the one stealing all of those purses on the boardwalk."

"Spencer, you didn't say it was an *actual* clown stealing the purses! Why didn't you make that clear?"

"I called and said 'I see the clown that's stealing purses! Send in the troops!'"

"And then you hung up, without giving a description of the guy..."

"I said clown! What more did I need to describe?"

Lassiter half-sighed, half-growled and turned away from the officers who were hand-cuffing the culprit clown.

Juliet O'Hara approached and said, "The carnival owner says this guy isn't one of theirs. He's been hanging around since the carnival set up on the beach. Crime of opportunity, it looks like. He had a disguise for being able to mingle in the crowds and snag the purses, and a good place to hide them after he grabbed them."

Shawn and Lassiter turned back to look at the clown. He was wearing a baggy one-piece suit with a big hoop around the middle. He had fashioned a large, pocket-like opening in the front of the suit, providing a convenient place to stash the purses. He had been getting them from strollers and picnic tables and any other place where they'd been left briefly unattended. The officers were pulling out a third purse from the pouch in the clown's midsection as they watched.

"Wow, give that guy some big ears and he could be Booga from Tank Girl," said Shawn, with a half-smirk.

Juliet looked puzzled for a moment, but then she smiled at Shawn and shook her head. Lassiter scrunched up his eyebrows, obviously clueless about the obscure reference.

"Once you've got this wrapped up here, O'Hara, let's get this guy into interrogation. We need to see if he's also been the one breaking into cars in the beach lots, or if he's working with one or more other...clowns," said Lassiter with a small smile at his own little joke.

"Sure thing, partner," said O'Hara, giving Shawn a warning look to stifle the response she could see he was about to make.

"I'll go start the paperwork."

She gave a thumbs up and turned back to speak with the uniformed officers. Lassiter headed out towards one of the unlit beach lots where he'd left his car.

"Oh, hey, Lassie, about that ride," puffed Shawn as he jogged to catch up with the long-legged detective.

"What? What ride?" Lassiter kept walking briskly across the dark parking lot. He had pulled in at one end of the long parking area only to end up running what seemed like a mile down the boardwalk in pursuit of a clown who had the benefit of a half-mile head start because Spencer hadn't been clear he was the perpetrator. Now his feet hurt. He'd have to think about getting some dress shoes that were more comfortable for running.

"The ride I need you to give me to the station so I can collect my fee for cracking the Great Carnival-Clown Caper."

Lassiter threaded his way between two vehicles and then turned to walk beside a long line of parallel-parked cars. "Well, where the hell is Guster? Didn't you ride here with him?"

"Yeah but he kind of drove away when he found out we were chasing an evil clown. By now, he's probably home, hunkered down under his sheets with all the doors barricaded."

Lassiter just shook his head as he continued along the line of cars. Headlights flashed as a Jeep turned the corner and headed down the lane they were on, trolling for a parking space. Lassiter scooted closer to the parked cars and Shawn fell into step behind him to make room for the Jeep as it passed them. Shawn caught the eye of the dark-haired girl driving the Jeep and gave her his patented Spencer smile-with-nod-and-raised-eyebrow. She smirked and turned to say something to her friend as they passed. He slowed down and stepped back out into the lane a bit to turn and watch as the Jeep cruised on past.

Just then, Shawn caught the sound of a car door opening. He turned back towards Lassiter just as the door of the parked car he was passing flew open, slamming into the detective. Shawn could see, almost as if it was in slow motion, how the door smashed into Lassiter's right knee as he was stepping forward, and then how the top of the door caught him across the chest. The force of the collision knocked Lassiter backwards. Shawn tried to step forward as the detective toppled, but he couldn't cover the distance in time before Lassiter fell back and cracked his head on the rough asphalt of the parking lot.

"Oh my god!" gasped Shawn, rushing forward and leaning over Lassiter.

He saw the detective staring wide-eyed at the sky, mouth open, almost like a fish out of water, as he tried to draw a breath. Then, Lassiter grimaced and drew in a strangled hiss of air that was half groan, half-gasp. He writhed on the ground, his left hand coming up to his head and his right hand moving down to grip his right thigh. He groaned again and coughed out, "God dammit!"

Shawn noticed that someone was coming out of the parked car and stood up again. The whole thing was so shocking because he had been sure there was no one in the line of parked cars, no one that he'd noticed. _Was this guy lying down in there? Lying in wait?_ And now, as the shadowy figure emerged, Shawn noticed that he was wearing a knit ski mask. He also noticed the jagged edges of the car's window and realized the guy had broken into the car to get inside. _This is the guy who's been breaking into the cars! What a crazy coincidence. _ The guy had to have been lying in the car, and must've kicked the door open with both feet, considering the force with which it had flown open and felled Lassiter. _But why had he shown himself at all? Why didn't he stay hidden until we'd gone past?_

Shawn felt a rush of adrenalin at the idea that they were facing down another thief, a more violent one, so far, as well. "What the hell, dude!" Shawn yelled at the figure, hoping an aggressive tone might just scare the guy off. "We're walking here!"

Then he saw the gun. It was a .38 revolver, and it was pointed right at him. "Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Shawn said as he held up his hands and took an involuntary step backwards. _So much for the aggressive tone. _He looked from the gun back to the guy's face and realized with a shock that the guy was wearing sunglasses over the ski mask. _What the hell?_

The shadowy man kept the gun trained on Shawn for another moment, but then he pointed it down a bit towards Lassiter, who was glaring up at him, blue eyes burning with anger. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" said Lassiter, voice cracking with anger and pain.

"Shut up, detective. Give me your gun. And sorry about the bump, there. It was pretty hard, wasn't it?" The man grinned, white teeth shining through the opening of the ski mask, not sounding at all sorry.

Shawn felt a shiver run down his spine at the man's use of Lassiter's title. _He knows who we are? Or at least who Lassie is? _ His heart started beating even faster. "Hey man, let's just all calm down here. I'm sure we can work something out."

"Shut up," said the guy, raising his head to Shawn briefly before focusing again on Lassiter.

Shawn stared at their assailant, trying to take in as many details as possible. The man was about 5'9" and medium build. Shawn was frustrated at the lack of facial details. He couldn't even tell what color hair the guy had, if any. His teeth were white, with no noticeable dental work. Otherwise, he couldn't get much useful information. His clothes were just some plain black trousers, black hooded sweatshirt, black ski mask, black gloves even; typical thief fashion. The sunglasses were the only identifiable item: Black Ray-Ban Wayfarers.

"Did you just say 'give me your gun?'" said Lassiter, staring incredulously at the man. His face flushed red, and he got a murderous look in his eyes as he tried to sit up. "Because, that's *not* going to happen. Who the hell do you think you are?"

The man pulled back the hammer of the gun and stepped closer, leaning down a bit more to aim it squarely at Lassie's chest. "I'm the guy taking your gun."

Lassiter let out an actual growl and made a lunge at the man. From his mostly-prone position, his attempt to rise up and grab at the man was awkward and, Shawn thought, hardly threatening. Nevertheless, the guy straightened and aimed a hard kick at the detective's right knee. Lassiter screamed and fell back, clutching his leg and curling up on his right side. "Sonofabitch," he gasped, taking in ragged breaths.

Shawn felt the bile rise in his throat, and he swallowed hard. The guy was just playing with Lassie, torturing him. "Stop it! Just stop, jeez. What do you want?"

The man pointed the gun at Shawn. "I want his gun. Give it to me."

"No! You can't," said Lassiter, uncurling a bit to glare again at their attacker. His eyes were watery and pinched as much with pain as with anger.

"Give me his gun, or I shoot him in the head."

Shawn started to feel like he was going to hyperventilate. "Man, I can't do that."

"One."

"What? Dude, are you giving me a three count?"

"Two."

"Dammit, stop."

"Three."

"Okay, okay, just... Stop! Okay!" Shawn waved his hands in front of him, feeling the worst sensation of helplessness.

"Now! I'm done playing here," growled the attacker.

Shawn sighed and looked down at Lassiter who stared back at him, wide-eyed.

"Shawn, do not do this."

Shawn leaned over and reached for the firearm in Lassiter's shoulder holster.

"Just two fingers," warned the man.

Lassiter's right hand clamped down on Shawn's wrist as he reached under the suit coat and started to pull out the Glock.

"Detective," warned the man, holding his gun just inches from Shawn's head.

Lassiter frowned so deeply, Shawn thought he was about to cry. He had to admit he almost felt like crying, himself. This situation was really, really, not fun, and he was ready for it to be over, with as few people dead as possible. He met Lassie's eyes and whispered, "I'm so, so sorry, but I don't want either of us to die right this moment."

Lassiter's expression rippled through anger, pain and heartbreak before he closed his eyes and released Shawn's wrist. Shawn grimaced and pulled the Glock out of Lassie's holster and held it up with just his thumb and forefinger.

The man took it with a toothy grin, stuck the gun in his sweatshirt's front pocket, and gave them a jaunty wave. "Thanks guys, you made my day!" And with that, he turned and ran between the two nearest cars and off into the dark, towards the beach but away from the busy boardwalk.

Lassiter lurched upwards with a strangled yell, struggling to get upright. Shawn put his hand out as Lassie flailed, trying to gain support to stand, obviously unable to actually put weight on his right knee. Once upright, he stumbled forwards and leaned heavily on the hood of the parked car their attacker had been hiding in, staring into the darkness where the man had disappeared.

Shawn could almost feel the anger and despair radiating from the detective, even from behind, and he wasn't sure what to say. The attack had been so random and unexpected, and yet possibly not random. "Did you know that guy, Lassie?" he asked tentatively.

Lassiter's shoulders tensed even more, which Shawn thought would've been impossible, and he was glad he couldn't see his face in that moment. "How the hell should I know," said Lassie, voice sounding like he was chewing on broken glass.

"It's just that he called you 'detective.' He knew who you were."

"I caught that, Spencer. I'm not quite as dumb as you like to believe."

Shawn winced. He noticed Lassiter's arms, which were supporting most of his weight, were shaking. He gave himself a mental headslap and dug out his phone, finding Juliet's number. "Lassie, you should sit down, man. Please," he said as he waited for Juliet to pick up.

Lassiter's head was hanging down, but suddenly his whole body jerked as he raised both arms above his head and slammed his fists down onto the hood of the parked car, putting a large dent in the metal. Shawn jumped in surprise and missed Juliet's greeting over the phone. "Damn it, Lassie. Stop that and sit down!" He moved to stand beside the detective and lend support.

Lassiter was already turning back towards Shawn and sliding down the side of the car, apparently having spent his remaining energy on the outburst. Shawn held onto his upper arm and tried to help him ease to the ground as gently as possible. Lassiter clenched his teeth and couldn't quite stifle his cries of pain. His right leg bounced and scraped on the asphalt as he slid down to a seat with his back against the front tire and his legs stretched out straight. He leaned his head back against the fender and closed his eyes. Shawn could see a patch of matted blood on the back of his head where it had hit the asphalt in his fall.

"Shawn? Shawn? What's the matter, and where are you?" said Juliet, voice just audible from the phone.

"Oh, Jules! I'm here. Uh, we've had a, uh, situation here..."

"What? Where are you? I thought you were going to the station with Lassiter."

"Well, we didn't quite make it that far."

"What do you mean?"

"We're still in the parking lot. Are you still here? We need you, um, and an ambulance, too, I think."

"What!?"

"We got mugged, sort of. I think we ran into the guy who's been breaking into cars, kind of ambushed by him, actually. We're at the far end of the beach lot."

"Oh my god, are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Lassie's hurt, though."

"I'll be right there," she said, and he could hear the concern in her voice under the surprised confusion.

"Juliet's on her way," said Shawn.

"Caught that too," said Lassiter quietly.

Shawn sighed. "We'll get this guy. We'll get your gun back, and find out what the hell that was all about."

"We'd better," said Lassiter with a fatalistic tone. He pulled his left knee up and leaned his elbow on it, then he rested his head on his arm. "I can't believe that bastard has my gun," he whispered.

Shawn suddenly felt tired. He sat down next to Lassiter and considered putting a hand on the man's shoulder, but then thought better of it. He figured he wasn't someone Lassiter would be willing to be comforted by right at this moment, seeing as how he was the guy who had just given away his weapon. _I had no choice. And what the hell just went down, anyway? That had to be the guy robbing cars, right? But why would he want to mug us for a gun? Was he specifically after Lassie's gun? He knew who Lassie was, or at least that he was a detective. What kind of idiot wants to steal a cop's gun?_ Shawn wished Gus was around, and he couldn't wait to tell him everything that had happened. Somehow, his friend always made it easier for him to think through mysteries, especially the really strange ones, like this.


	2. Chapter 2

I do not own any part of Psych. No copyright infringement intended.

**Chapter 2**

Two hours later, Shawn was still at the station. He had reported to Chief Vick, and then he'd given his official statement on the attack. Gus had joined him as soon as he'd heard; his fears of evil clowns overshadowed by Shawn's experience. After he was done giving his statement to Buzz, Shawn had settled in at Juliet's computer to look through some mug shots.

"Shawn why are you looking at those if you said you couldn't see his face?"

"I don't know, Gus," said Shawn with resignation. "I guess I just feel like doing something. Maybe I'll recognize his teeth."

"Dude, you really know how to get yourself into the strangest predicaments," said Gus as he munched on some vending machine chips.

"I know, man," said Shawn. "It was all so disconcerting, like watching a Saturday night Syfy Original Movie."

Gus shivered and nodded.

"I mean, the guy seemed so...happy. And he knew Lassie. And he was wearing a ski mask *and* sunglasses. But all he wanted was the gun. Yet, he already had a gun. Seriously? Are criminals really that greedy these days?"

Gus wrinkled his brow and opened his mouth to respond.

"Actually, don't answer that," said Shawn. He clicked through a few more screens of mug shots, then grabbed for his phone when it started to ring.

"Shawn Spencer, clown-nabber and mugger-bait," he said, knowing already that it was Juliet calling.

"Shawn, please," she said, sounding tired and frazzled.

Shawn could just imagine what kind of an experience she'd been having while accompanying Lassie to the hospital. He remembered what Lassie's knee had looked like when the paramedics had cut his pant leg open, much to the detective's dismay, and his stomach did a mini-flop at the image. Lassie's knee had been red and swollen, and there was an odd bump on the outside part of the knee that the medics explained was his knee cap. It had been dislocated by the impact of the car door. Shawn shivered at the thought. The medics had mentioned that they'd need x-rays to determine the severity of the dislocation. If it was serious enough, it would require surgery.

As bad as he felt about the experience, Shawn had been relieved to accept a ride from Buzz to the station while Juliet rode in the ambulance with Lassiter. The detective was still radiating a black cloud of anger and despair and, Shawn suspected, embarrassment at the fact that he'd lost his weapon. Shawn was happy to be away from that cloud for a while, so he could try to think through the experience more clearly.

"I'm sorry, Jules. Just blowing off steam. How's Lassie?" he asked.

"He's doing okay, considering. It could've been a lot worse. There's no concussion, thank goodness. His knee cap was dislocated, but it didn't tear any cartilage and won't require surgery. They've got it immobilized for now, and he'll need to wear a knee brace for a while."

"Well, that's good. Is he, uh, feeling any better?" Shawn asked, not sure if Juliet knew what he meant.

"He's calmed down, a bit. I think the drugs have helped, but," she said, and Shawn could almost hear her shrug. "He's pretty torn up about it."

Shawn gave a mirthless laugh, "Yeah, you can say that again."

"Shawn, give him a break. Put yourself in his place," said Juliet, with as close to a tone of admonishment as she ever got with Shawn. "He feels responsible for what happened, even though he couldn't have prevented it, from what you said."

"I know Jules, you're right. He couldn't have prevented it. Maybe I could've, if I'd noticed something sooner, anything, but I didn't. It was an ambush, and we walked right into it," said Shawn with an edge of irritation.

"Shawn, don't beat yourself up about it, too. I can only handle one self-flagellating co-worker at a time, okay?"

"Okay, Jules," said Shawn. Then he covered the phone and whispered to Gus, "What does self-flatulating mean?"

Gus looked puzzled. "Do you mean self-flagellating?"

"Can you just pretend that I do, so I don't have to try and say it again?"

Gus gave him a long-suffering look. "It means that you're punishing yourself for something."

Shawn said, "Ah, okay. Thanks." Then he uncovered the phone to address Juliet. "So when are you getting back?"

"I'm going to take him home and help him get settled. Then I'm going home too. It's almost 1AM. Vick says we'll pick up the investigation first thing tomorrow. You should go home and get some rest yourself. We'll need you."

"Sure thing, boss," he said as he gave up on the mug shots. "I'll see you in the morning, then. Thanks, Jules."

"Good night, Shawn."

Shawn rubbed his forehead, feeling a sudden and urgent need for sleep. "Let's get out of here, buddy. I need to crash."

"Yes, you do," said Gus.

oOoOoOoOoOoO

_He seemed so happy, like he was really enjoying himself. It's not every day a crook gets to mug a cop. Why did he do it? Why did I let it happen? And for God's sake, why did I just let him take my gun?_ Lassiter drew in a ragged breath, trying to keep it from sounding too much like a sob. He wasn't dreaming, though it felt like a dream. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to sleep fully enough to dream. He was stuck in that weird, drug-aided netherworld of sleep-but-not-sleep, where his brain was still running a million miles an hour, where the pain of his knee dulled but never disappeared, and where the weird ski mask/sunglasses figure of the man who had taken his gun morphed disturbingly with that of the damned clown he had arrested only a short while before the attack.

_I didn't just let him take my gun. I let Spencer give him my gun_. Lassiter's eyes opened, staring into the darkness of his room as if he was still staring into the darkness left in the wake of the mugger's escape. _He wasn't a mugger. He knew who I was. It was an ambush_. Lassiter felt an ache of anger, mixed with embarrassment, that rivaled the continued ache of his right knee. He looked at the clock. It was almost 6AM, as good a time as any to get up for the day. He took a deep breath, bracing himself for the pain of getting out of bed and moving around.

At 7:30AM he called O'Hara. During the previous hour and a half, he'd gotten out of bed, awkwardly, due to the knee immobilizer. The contraption stretched from mid-thigh to ankle and forced his leg to remain straight. He had the feeling he was going to hate it with a passion before the week was over. It was uncomfortable and ungainly, but he'd started getting used to moving around with it and the crutches. He had washed up, shaved, and taken a dose of painkillers with two pieces of toast and coffee. He had also taken one 10 minute break to ice his knee. With some strategic cutting on an older pair of slacks, he had fashioned a pair of pants that would fit over the immobilizer. Maybe one long pant leg and one short wouldn't win any fashion contests, but at least he could walk around in public in something other than pajama bottoms or sweats.

Now, it was time for the hard part. He was mostly sure O'Hara would be awake. It was bad enough, thinking about what her reaction was going to be to his call, without adding in the possibility of actually waking her up, too. He took a deep breath as he waited through the rings.

"Carlton? Are you okay?" she said.

"I'm fine, O'Hara. What time are you heading to the station?" he asked.

There was a pause. "Um, I was just about to head in now, actually," she said hesitantly, as if she knew what was coming next.

"Can you swing by and pick me up, then? I'm ready to go."

"Carlton, you're not supposed to go to work today."

"O'Hara, I'm ready to go," he said, allowing a steely edge to slip into his voice.

She sighed heavily. "Is there any point arguing with you?"

"Absolutely none."

"You know the chief is going to stick you right back into a squad car and make an officer guard you all day."

"That would be a waste of manpower. And anyway, I'll tell her the same thing I'm going to tell you now. If I need to, I will walk to the station."

She sighed again. "We'll see how well that goes over with the chief," she muttered. "Okay, Carlton, I'll be there in 15 minutes."

"Thank you," he said, relief plain in his voice.

"Are you really sure?" she asked.

"Absolutely," he said. After he hung up, he sat for several minutes leaning on his elbows with his face in his hands.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Shawn was yawning widely as he walked into the station a little after 10AM. He hadn't slept well, and his dreams had contained evil clowns and the echoes of Gus's running feet. He turned the corner into the main squad room, and stopped in his tracks.

"Spencer where have you been?" barked Lassiter from across the room. He was nestled in at his desk with an extra chair full of cushions to prop up his injured leg, various water and juice and medicine bottles strewn about, and several large stacks of files threatening to tip over. He was holding a cup of coffee in one hand and supporting a large bag of ice on his injured knee with the other.

Shawn wasn't sure why he was surprised that Lassiter was already back to work. _It's just because I'm not awake yet_. He walked over to the detective and said, "Lassie, you'd better watch out. You're going to start a new trend with those pants. And they will be known as: Lassie-Pants!"

"Stow it, Spencer," grumped Lassiter. "I've been waiting for you to come in. Where's Guster?"

"He just dropped me off. He has, like, some other job or something, I guess," said Shawn with a shrug. "Where's Jules?"

"She's at the scene of the attack, checking in with forensics. We need to compare notes."

"So, Vick's just letting you work on this?"

Lassiter frowned and looked down at one of the files on his desk. "She's got me on desk duty. I'm supposed to finish up paperwork on all of my other cases. But she knows I'm not going to just let this go, either."

Shawn nodded, with a "no-kidding" look on his face as he pulled over a chair and sat down so that he was looking at Lassiter across his desk. He glanced at the detective's injured leg. At the moment, the wrapped-up knee was exposed enough for icing. The immobilizer was lying open under the leg, on top of the cushions that had been scrounged up to help elevate his knee. It was a funny looking thing, with a lot of Velcro straps that wrapped around and secured two long metal support splints which kept the leg from bending.

Just then, Buzz McNab walked up and asked, "Is there anything else you need, detective?"

"Yeah, take this stack and bring me the reports from the month earlier. And put this back in the freezer," he said as he handed Buzz the ice pack.

Buzz nodded eagerly and grabbed the teetering files Lassiter pointed to and the slightly dripping ice pack.

"Are you going through old burglary reports?"

"Just the ones involving car break-ins."

Shawn grimaced and shook his head. "There's not much to go on, is there?"

Lassiter sighed, looking perturbed. "No. Now, did you get any kind of vibes or visions or anything last night that might be useful?"

Shawn shook his head. "Unfortunately not. I think that hot girl in the Jeep that passed us scrambled my signals for a few moments there."

Lassiter let out an exasperated sigh. "Great. Well, what else did you see? He was in all black, nothing distinguishable, that I noticed. My head was a bit muzzy there for a few minutes," he said with a grimace. "He was wearing sunglasses. That was weird."

"Yeah, Ray Bans. It had to be hard for him to see very well with them on, in that dark lot. Was he trying to be cool, or hiding something?"

"Like eye color?"

Shawn shrugged.

"You said the glasses were Ray Bans? I guess that's the one distinguishing characteristic we can list."

"Sure, except about 50% of Santa Barbara probably wears those."

Lassiter took a deep breath and then let it out in a mirthless laugh. "Well, 50% is better than nothing, I guess."

Shawn looked at him sharply. "Did you just make a joke?"

"Did I?" Lassiter raised his eyebrows with a look of innocent confusion, but Shawn detected a wry look in his eyes.

Shawn chuckled and then cleared his throat. "It looks like you're feeling a little better, at least."

"Oh yeah, I feel super," said Lassiter as he a flipped open a file.

"I know, I just meant..." he faltered, not really sure what he was trying to say.

"Don't let my sunny demeanor fool you, Spencer. I'm pissed off," he said, face reddening slightly. "I really think I would shoot the guy, if he was suddenly standing right here."

Shawn pursed his lips and nodded.

"But," said Lassiter, in a quieter tone that made Shawn look up at him. The detective was gazing resolutely down at one of the reports. "I'm only angry with that guy. No one else." He flicked his eyes up to meet Shawn's before looking down again.

Shawn drew a breath and felt some tension release in his shoulders. "Okay, that's cool," he said with a small smile. "But, are you sure about that? Really?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're not pissed off at anyone else? Like, any tall, dark and handsome head detectives of Irish descent?"

Lassiter grimaced and opened another file.

"Cause, y'know, you shouldn't be," continued Shawn quietly.

"Drop it, Spencer," growled Lassie.

"Consider it dropped like a hot potato," said Shawn, adding a gesture of shaking his hand and blowing on his fingers to complete the picture.

Lassiter just rolled his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Two days later, there still hadn't been a break in the case, and the tension was beginning to wear on Carlton Lassiter. And, when Lassiter was tense, everyone around him was tense. Buzz McNab jumped, for the thousandth time, at the sound of Lassiter banging shut one of his desk drawers. It almost seemed like every few minutes something was being crashed down by the detective or some bark of frustration was uttered by him. There was a noticeable dead zone of space around the head detective's desk where everyone had learned not to tread.

"McNab!"

Buzz winced and steeled himself for a trip to the dead zone.

"Dammit, McNab, hasn't that report come in yet?"

Buzz shook his head and said, "No, sir, but it should be here any time. They said it would be finished today."

Lassiter's face reddened in preparation for a major chewing out, which he and Buzz both knew wasn't deserved. Buzz braced himself, ready to take one for the team. Luckily, perhaps for both of them, Juliet O'Hara stepped in just in time to defuse the situation.

"Carlton, be patient. It's great news that forensics was able to get any prints at all. They'll have the results here as soon as they can," she said as she inserted herself between her partner and the hapless officer. She gave Buzz a small push as she moved past, allowing him to escape.

"Oh, darn it! Did I miss the first daily Lassie tongue-lashing?" drawled Spencer from the station entrance. He strolled past the retreating McNab and blithely entered the dead zone. "You're early! Really, Lassie, we need to get in sync. But if we do, you know I have to be Justin Timberlake."

Juliet pursed her lips and shook her head. Shawn's colorful entrances hadn't been helping when she'd been forced to run interference between her aggravated partner and everyone else lately. She knew that Lassiter's frustration with the case was being multiplied by the nagging pain of his knee, so she tried to make sure he didn't go too far with his outbursts. Today, though, the anger seemed to drain from her partner quicker than normal, and he just rubbed his face tiredly with both hands.

"Just let me know when the report comes in, please, O'Hara," he said.

"The fingerprints?" asked Shawn. "Dude, I still say that's a bogus lead. Seriously, the guy we saw had gloves on. How could he have left fingerprints?"

"It's the only lead we've got, Spencer," growled Lassiter from behind his hands.

"Well, that doesn't make it a good one."

Lassiter slammed his palms down on the desk. Somewhere, Buzz McNab jumped again.

"Do you not understand the meaning of 'only lead'?"

"See, when you say 'only' I just hear 'crappy.'"

"Guys...," said Juliet

"Spencer, if you're not going to help, get out."

"Lassie, if you're not going to accept my help...," started Shawn.

"Guys!" said Juliet, with more force.

"Detective Lassiter! The lab just called. They found a match in the database!" Buzz McNab came running up to Lassiter's desk, grinning widely. He held out a piece of paper with the information.

"Thank god!" said Juliet and Lassiter at the same time. They both held out their hands for the paper.

"Carlton, you're still on desk duty," reminded Juliet as she took the page from McNab. "Buzz and I will be back as soon as we find this guy."

Lassiter's outstretched hand curled into a tight fist. He frowned deeply, but then he nodded and sat back in his chair.

Juliet read over the information quickly and raised her eyebrows with a faint expression of triumph. She moved around the desk to Lassiter's computer and punched in some information. "Here," she said. "This guy has quite a record. You can review it while we track him down."

"Thanks," he said, somewhat consoled.

"See you soon, partner." Juliet and Buzz hurried out of the station.

Shawn watched the pair leave, then shoved his hands in his pockets and turned back to Lassiter. He noticed something different about the detective. "Hey! Lassie, you lost your torture device. Weren't you supposed to keep it on for a week?"

"I couldn't take it," mumbled Lassiter as he studied the file on his computer, chin resting in his hand. "I'm wearing a smaller brace during the day and that other thing at night. This guy just doesn't seem right."

"What?" Shawn sat down.

"He's a petty thief, arrested a few times for purse snatching and car break-ins. He's never used a weapon before."

"Maybe he graduated from petty thief to armed robbery," said Shawn, deciding not to push his opinion of the fingerprint thing any further with Jules not around. Besides, it seemed like, for all his bluster, Lassiter was perhaps thinking along the same lines as Shawn.

"Maybe. Or maybe he broke into the car earlier, and then the other guy came along afterwards," said Lassie, glancing up at Shawn and noticing the familiar, vaguely smug look on his face. "Which is what you've been thinking all along, I take it?"

Shawn put his hands up in a gesture of helplessness and said, "I just don't think a guy wearing gloves takes them off to break into a car, then puts them back on. And how did he know who you were? If he was just a random thief randomly breaking into cars...."

Lassiter sighed and nodded. "We can still talk to this guy. Maybe there's some kind of connection."

Shawn's brow furrowed as a thought niggled at the back of his mind. "Connection," he said, almost inaudibly.

"What?"

Just then the door to Chief Vick's office opened and the chief strode over to Lassiter's desk. Her expression was a mixture of determination and concern.

"Detective, I've just been informed that two of our officers responded to a suspicious activity call. They discovered two bodies in a home."

Lassiter sat up straighter. "Okay Chief."

"Carlton, both victims were shot dead," she continued, her tone ominous. "The weapon used was a .45 caliber Glock."

Lassiter blinked. "How do they know..." he began.

"The weapon was left at the scene."

Lassiter stared at her for a few moments, growing visibly pale. Shawn was confused, but then realization dawned on him. _ Lassie's gun? Oh, crap._

"Chief..." began Lassiter, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

"Officially, you are still on desk duty. But, I'd like for you to go to the scene, and, well," she faltered.

"Identify the weapon," he said, voice sounding hollow.

Chief Vick nodded and regarded her head detective with sympathy. "I've already called O'Hara and McNab back. They'll be here in a minute to pick you up."

Lassiter nodded and stared blankly at his desk as the chief turned back to her office.

"Chief," said Shawn.

"Yes, Mr. Spencer, you can go," she said as she paused at her office door. "Like it or not, you are involved in this case, so please see if you can get anything from the scene as well."

Shawn nodded as the chief went into her office. He looked at Lassie and saw the haunted look on the detective's face. He took a deep breath and said, "Maybe it's not...."

Lassiter stood up abruptly, wavering slightly. He reached down for the crutches that were leaning against his desk and tucked them under his armpits. "I'll be right back," he rasped. Then he hobbled off towards the restroom, the brace on his knee visible under the fabric of his suit pants.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Shawn picked his way around the usual crime-scene bustle, taking in all of the details that he could. The forensics team had arrived only a few minutes after them, so he was forced to stay on the edges of the scene. The victims were in the living room of a nice suburban home in a middle-class neighborhood not known for double-homicides. They were a husband and wife, both with one shot to the heart. The apparent murder weapon had been lying on the floor in between them.

A faint squeaking noise caught Shawn's attention, and he looked around for the source. Lassiter was standing off to one side, leaning on his crutches and glaring bright blue at the murder scene. He had hardly spoken since arriving, except to confirm that the gun was his after examining the serial number. The detective's jaw muscles kept contracting, as if he were grinding his teeth. Shawn realized that Lassiter was the source of the squeaking noise; his white-knuckled fists were twisting the rubber grips of the aluminum crutches mercilessly.

"Hey, man, I think you've ground those handles into submission," he said quietly as he stepped up beside the detective.

Lassiter closed his eyes for a moment and stopped wringing the handles, but he didn't look at Shawn. He just cleared his throat and moved around him on his way out of the house. Shawn watched him go and wondered if he should try to jolt him out of his funk with some patented Shawn Spencer witticisms. Maybe a few obscure 80s references and a veiled insult or two. Then again, he might get a crutch to the skull. It was a dilemma, for sure.

Juliet noticed the one-sided exchange and gave Shawn an apologetic look. "Give him some time, Shawn," she said.

"Yeah, sure, Jules, I get it. If you hadn't noticed, I've been quite unlike myself lately."

She smiled. "I have noticed, and I think it's been a good thing, in this case."

"Yep, in this case," he repeated, though he wasn't sure why. And then he did it again. "In this case."

"Shawn why are you doing that?"

"I'm not sure. Something about that phrase...," he said, brow furrowing.

"Is it a vision?"

Shawn blinked and almost unconsciously put his hand up to his temple in his signature pose, but then he lowered it again. "More like a small vibe," he said. "Although, I'm not sure what it's vibing about, yet."

Juliet looked faintly disappointed. An officer approached and she turned her attention to him. She was lead detective on the case, after all. Shawn shoved his hands in his pockets and gave the room another quick once-over, trying to get the whole scene formed clearly in his mind. Something black on one of the end tables next to the sofa caught his attention. He walked over for a closer look. Sunglasses. A pair of Ray Ban Wayfarers was lying on the small glass table.

"Jules!"

"What? What is it?"

"The sunglasses! They're the same ones our attacker wore."

Juliet leaned over to look at the sunglasses, expression doubtful. "They're the very same ones?"

Shawn sighed. "Well, I don't know that, for sure, but they're the same type. It can't be coincidence."

"Those are pretty common, Shawn."

"I know!" he said, bouncing on his toes. "But...still." He tried to will his certainty into Juliet, sometimes wishing he really did have psychic abilities. Luckily for him, Juliet always seemed to pick up on his mental wavelengths anyway.

"Okay, we'll make sure these are tested thoroughly," she said, waving over one of the forensics personnel. The tech deposited the sunglasses in an evidence bag and put them with the rest of the collected evidence.

Shawn took a deep breath and glanced at the bodies. A shiver ran down his back, and he realized he needed some fresh air.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Lassiter took two crutch-aided steps out the front door of the house and paused to take a deep breath. He was trying to calm his agitation before attempting the three cement steps to the sidewalk. Spencer had been correct--the rubber handles of his crutches were beginning to crumble a bit under his wringing grip. _That animal killed those people with my gun_! He breathed in again and closed his eyes.

"Detective Lassiter, are you okay?" said Chief Vick.

Lassiter's eyes flew open. He hadn't noticed the chief's arrival at the scene. He cleared his throat. "Yes, Chief. I'm fine. I was just...getting some fresh air," he said, hoping he sounded more composed than he felt. He moved down the three steps, slowly but steadily, to meet the chief on the sidewalk.

"Of course. I heard that you confirmed the weapon to be yours."

"Yes, it is," he said, unable to stifle the grimace that flashed across his face.

"I'm sorry, Carlton," she said, briefly touching his arm. "Does O'Hara have any information yet?"

"No, Chief. CSU is still going over the scene. There was no forced entry. The victims appear to have been killed almost execution-style."

Chief Vick grimaced and shook her head. "We need to find out who these people are."

"Yes," he agreed, understanding that she meant more than just the couple's name. He cleared his throat. "Chief, I need to make a request," he began. He stood up straight, putting his weight on his left leg and some on his right, to see how it felt. He had been making attempts to walk without the crutches, whenever O'Hara wasn't around to scold him for it. He figured he'd need to demonstrate his ability to walk, if the chief was going to grant him this request.

"Detective," she said with that warning tone of "don't-even-ask" that she was so adept at using.

"I would like to be put back on full duty. I can walk, with this brace, just fine. Chief, I need to be more active on this case."

"You can do a lot from your desk. I'm sure your knee could use at least another week's worth of healing."

Just then, Shawn and Juliet emerged from the house and paused to listen.

"Actually, I think it's at the point where moving around a bit more will be better for it," he said, hoping that didn't sound as lame to everyone else as it did to him. He felt the reins slip on his emotions. "Chief, that bastard used my gun to murder two people. I need to do this."

"Carlton, the case isn't the only concern here. You have a partner who needs to be able to count on you in any situation."

Lassiter looked at Juliet who was observing the discussion with a concerned expression. He knew she trusted him, as much as he trusted her. At least, he hoped so. "Of course, Chief. That's not going to be an issue," he said. He looked back at Juliet again while he said to the chief, "I'm ready." Juliet met his eyes and gave him a nod of confidence.

He looked back at the chief and saw her skepticism. To emphasize his point, he put the two crutches together and dropped them to the ground at his side. "I'm ready," he repeated. "I'm fine." He took a few halting steps towards the house and then back again, trying with all of his might to not limp too badly. The knee hurt like hell, like there was a rock lodged under his kneecap grinding against bone when he walked, like there were 20 little red devils poking pitchforks of fire into his knee with each step, but he made damn sure he didn't vocalize the grunts of pain he felt like yelling each time he put weight on the blasted joint. When he stopped in front of the chief again, he was ecstatic that he hadn't crumpled to the ground. He forced a strained smile and held his hands out to his sides. "See?"

Shawn opened his mouth to say something, but Juliet nudged him hard with her elbow. The chief rubbed her forehead for a moment and then gave him a pained look. "All right, Carlton, I'll put you back on active duty."

He smiled brightly and the relief he felt almost masked the pain, for a moment. "Thank you, Chief!"

"But!" she said hastily. "I want O'Hara to remain lead on this case."

Lassiter looked at Juliet then back to the chief. He nodded, the smile fading now as he returned his focus to the case. "No problem."

"So, you have a match for the fingerprints, I believe?"

Juliet stepped down beside them. "Yes, Chief. I have two officers trying to track down this guy, but they haven't found him yet."

"What's the name?"

"Um," Juliet pulled out her notebook. "Michael Cryer. He has a record, mostly just petty theft. Oh, and, there's one more thing about this murder case. I was just informed by the officers who discovered the bodies that there's been a rash of home break-ins in this neighborhood over the past few days. In all of those cases, the break-ins occurred during the day when the homeowners were away."

"So, this may have just been a case of bad luck for these people, being home, or coming home, and surprising the burglar?"

"It's possible, Chief, but there was apparently nothing taken from the house. Cash, jewelry, electronics, all of the things that were taken from the other homes seem to be untouched here."

Shawn shook his head and put his hand up to his temple. "No, no, no way. I'm sorry, but the vibes I'm getting point to this murderer being the same guy who attacked me and Lassie. This wasn't just a burglary."

"Well, perhaps your attacker is a burglar," suggested Vick. "And perhaps these poor people just happened to walk in on him and got shot."

Shawn grimaced and shook his head again, but he couldn't come up with any counter argument. He was starting to see that all of the cases were connected, burglaries, break-ins, assaults and now murder, but he didn't know exactly how, yet. He was certain that there was more going on than just burglaries gone bad. And he also knew there was something about all of these cases that seemed eerily familiar. He had to do more research.

"Okay," said Vick. "Let me know when you have any more information, detectives," she said. She nodded at Juliet and gave Lassiter an "I'll-be-watching-you" look before turning back to her car.

After Chief Vick was gone, Shawn stepped up to Lassiter and gave him a slap on the back that caused him to almost overbalance. "Lassie, look at you! All ready to jump back into action. You know, I could've sworn just this morning that you couldn't actually walk on that knee."

Lassiter hissed when he had to plant his right knee to help catch himself after Shawn's slap. He turned his glare on Shawn and growled, "Well, you were wrong about that."

Shawn returned Lassiter's glare with a challenging look of his own. "Okay, then, Mr. Limpy McGimpy, how about you pick up those crutches again?"

Lassiter's eyes flicked to the crutches lying on the ground near his feet and realized with a cold stab that trying to bend his knee too far in the brace was probably going to be beyond him still. He looked back at Shawn and frowned deeply.

"The chief was right, Lassie. There's more to think about here than just the case," said Shawn quietly.

Lassiter looked at Juliet and saw her start to speak, a look of indignation on her face. He held up his hand and said, "Spencer, I am capable of doing whatever it takes to get this case closed and to get this murderer either behind bars or in the morgue."

He held Shawn's gaze for a moment, and then he took a breath and shifted his weight so that it was centered over his left leg. He bent his left knee slowly and leaned over, using his right leg as a counterbalance to his torso as he leaned over and grabbed the crutches. He straightened up again, wobbling slightly and catching himself with his right foot enough to cause another small hiss of pain. He looked at Shawn again, but with all seriousness in his eyes and no trace of triumph or gloating. "If I have to endure a little bit of pain while I do my duty, then so be it," he said.

Shawn raised his eyebrows and said, "I admit, that was very graceful. Have you considered trying out for one of those reality dancing shows?"

Juliet sighed with exasperation and said, "If you two are finished, can we get back to the case now?"

"Okay, fine," said Shawn. "My ride's here anyway. Gus! It's about time! You really need to tell that boss of yours that your work is interfering with our work!"

Gus walked up and waved. "Hey guys, how's the case going? And, shut up Shawn. I haven't noticed my work interfering with paying our bills."

Lassiter rolled his eyes and said, "Let's go, O'Hara. We need to find Michael Cryer, ASAP." He started to walk towards the car but ended up using the crutches partially, like a cane, for support.

"Hey, Lassie, I thought we agreed about that lead."

Lassiter paused and said, "Maybe so, Spencer, but this guy is still, at the very least, a suspect in the car robberies. We're bringing him in." He turned and started towards the car again. Over his shoulder he said, "You just let us know if you come up with a better lead, or any other kind of lead. Right now, this is all we've got."

Shawn sighed. To Gus, he said, "Unfortunately, he's right. Although there were those sunglasses, and also there's just something about this case that's starting to feel familiar in a weird way."

"Really?" said Gus. "Well, I'm sure you'll figure it out. And at least Lassie's looking more like his old self again."

"Yeah, like the scarecrow's got most of his stuffing put back in. He's back to his stuffy old self!"

Gus shivered. "You know how I hate that movie, Shawn. Flying monkeys? Really? With little fez caps *and* mohawks? It's just wrong, on so many levels."

Shawn grinned and started to hum "The Lollipop Guild." Gus shook his head and stalked off to the car.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

The next day, Lassiter was sitting at his desk, icing his knee at Juliet's insistence. He'd been walking on it way more than it was obviously ready for, and it was now staging a rebellion of increased pain and swelling. His desk was covered with the various reports they'd been compiling for the case. Sitting on top was the one he'd been dreading most. He glared at the ballistics report that had been delivered earlier in the day, reading yet again the information that confirmed his gun as the murder weapon in the deaths of the suburban couple.

Their names were Jim and Stacy McMullen, and he still had no idea why they would be the targets of a hit. The burglary-gone-bad theory did seem plausible, but, like Spencer, he just felt there was more to the case than that. Phone records for the couple showed nothing suspicious, and their bank accounts appeared free of any unusual activity. They had no children, held fairly mundane upper-middle-class jobs, and seemed to get along well enough with their neighbors. They'd been married for 4 years, and neither one had anything on their records beyond a few speeding tickets. One oddity, however, concerned the woman, Stacy McMullen. She had changed her name when they'd been married, but the odd part was that she had changed her first name as well as her maiden name. Before the marriage, her name had been Theresa Hask.

Shawn and Gus approached Lassiter's desk, and Shawn said, "I hope those reports are printed on asbestos because otherwise you're going to burn a hole in them glaring like that."

"Shawn, asbestos is a toxic material. It's illegal to use it anymore," said Gus.

"Gus, your poo-pooing is messing with my mojo."

"I'm not poo-pooing anything Shawn, I was just stating a fact."

"Is there a reason you two are flapping your lips right here at my desk?" growled Lassiter.

Shawn and Gus looked at each other and then moved their lips up and down simultaneously, making various fish-lips and other "flapping lips" facial expressions for a few moments.

When they were done, Shawn said, "No, not really."

Lassiter pinched the bridge of his nose. "What do you want?"

"Just checking in. Got any new information, or anything you need us to do?"

"No," said Lassiter, but then he thought again. "Actually, maybe you can check something for me. We've been gathering information about the couple, but there's something odd about the woman. Perhaps you two could look into it. We haven't had time to go deeper into her background yet." He showed them the reports on the couple and explained about the woman's name change.

"That does seem weird," said Shawn. "We'll see what we can find. Oh, did anything come back on those sunglasses?"

"No. They were wiped clean. No prints or anything."

Shawn's eyebrows shot up. "They must've been left by the murderer then! If they belonged to this couple, they would've had their prints on them."

"Yeah, probably, but it doesn't help us much does it?"

"Not obviously," said Shawn with a grimace. "But it raises more questions. Why did he leave them there? He didn't just forget them, did he? He's been so careful in everything else he's done, wearing the gloves and mask and sunglasses when he attacked us, and leaving no traces in the home."

"Except my gun."

"Except your gun, with no prints on it, besides yours."

Lassiter closed his eyes and rubbed his temples.

"I just mean," said Shawn, trying to make up for the bluntness of his previous statement. "He's been so careful that we shouldn't just think he left the sunglasses accidentally. Just like he didn't leave your gun accidentally."

Gus cleared his throat, trying to warn his friend of the whole foot-in-mouth habit he was apparently forming.

Lassiter frowned. "So you think the gun was some kind of message to me?"

Shawn frowned too and shrugged. As an afterthought, he put his hands up to his temples in his patented "psychic pose" and said, "The spirits aren't being clear, but they are pointing out that everything this guy does is done carefully and methodically. We should assume he's doing it for a reason. Why else did he use your gun, and then leave it? Why didn't he use that .38 he had?"

"But, what reason does he have to use my gun to kill these two people? I have zero connection to them. What kind of message is that?"

"Maybe he's getting back at you, for something. Maybe it's someone you've arrested in the past. Maybe he knows how much the idea of your gun being used to kill people would hurt you."

Lassiter's eyebrows furrowed, but his eyes began to light up as Shawn rattled off the possibilities. "Okay," he said. "I'll start looking at some of my old cases, and I'll check on anyone who's been released from prison recently that I busted."

"Cool. And we'll go check into this woman's past," said Shawn.

"Thank you, Spencer," said Lassiter.

Shawn nodded, a small smile playing on his lips, then he and Gus turned to leave. On the way out, they gave each other a quick fistbump.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Two hours later, Lassiter was gathering the information he'd collected about a half dozen convicts he'd arrested who had been released from prison over the past several months. Nothing stood out to him immediately in their records. There were a couple of junkies who hadn't been known for violence. Four others had committed some kind of violent act, ranging from armed robbery to assault and even attempted murder. He had only scanned their files briefly as he'd gathered them to study more thoroughly later. At first blush, though, he didn't recall any of them making specific threats to him, and he didn't get the feeling that any of them would be the type to hold so much of a grudge against him to have committed the attack and the double-murder. Maybe there was more to the story though that would connect the dots in time.

His phone rang, and he saw that it was Juliet calling in from the field. She had gone out to join the search for Michael Cryer, insisting that he stay behind to rest his knee and study the reports.

"We got him!" she said triumphantly. "He's an itinerant surfer who just sleeps on the beach or in his car. Some officers finally found him while showing his picture to other surfers."

"Great job, O'Hara. What's your ETA?"

"About 15 minutes."

"Good. I want him in interrogation as soon as he's processed."

"Okay," she said, the smile in her voice carrying through the phone lines. "See you soon, partner."

Lassiter hung up and rubbed his face with his hands for a moment. Then he dug out the file on Michael Cryer from the growing pile on his desk and started to plan his interrogation strategy. Maybe this guy wasn't involved in the attack and the murders, but at least it felt good to have something concrete to do.

Within the hour, the scruffy and fairly odorous Michael Cryer was sitting in the interrogation room, both knees bouncing up and down in his anxiety as he sat cuffed at the table. Lassiter let him stew for a few minutes before entering the room. He was using a single crutch to ease the strain on his knee. The room reeked of body odor and saltwater, but he knew the smell would fade after a few minutes, once he got used to it. He'd interrogated more smelly perps than he could remember. As he entered, the kid gave him an initially frightened look, but when he noticed the crutch he almost seemed more at ease. _Maybe he thinks an injured cop will go easier on him. If that's the case, he's dumb as a brick_. Lassiter put his file and notepad on the table and sank into the chair across from the surfer.

"Hello, Michael Cryer. I'm Detective Lassiter. I'm going to ask you some questions about the cars that have been broken into near the beach."

"Yeah, uh, you can call me Mixie. It's like my nickname, cause I'm Mick C., so the dudes just started calling me Mixie." He smiled and tried to reach up to push some of his dirty brown hair from his eyes, but the cuffs prevented the move. Then he leaned over so his fingers could reach, but his hair flopped forward as well and even more of it ended up in his eyes. He sat back up again, looking confused, and tried to blow at his hair instead.

Lassiter raised his eyebrows and watched the kid for a few moments. "Right. Okay, Mr. Cryer, we have over the past month recorded 18 cars that have been broken into in several different beach parking lots. In one of those cars, which was broken into four nights ago, we found your fingerprints."

"Oh, man, so you think I like broke into cars? No way, man, not me. That's illegal," he said, nodding and wearing an expression of innocence that made him look more like a deer caught in headlights.

"Mr. Cryer, you have a record for petty theft," said Lassiter, making a show of consulting the report. "Two convictions."

"Oh, yeah, but see I learned that it's wrong, so I don't do that anymore."

"Then how did your fingerprints get into that car four nights ago?"

"Maybe they, like, blew in there, y'know, through the open windows or something."

Lassiter blinked. He gazed at the kid, trying to detect a hint of sarcasm or anything else to indicate that the kid was being facetious. But he couldn't, and it left him speechless for a moment.

"Hey, dude, your leg is like all jacked up, right? That sucks, man. I had that happen before, ripped my knee up surfing. Hurts like a bitch. Did you get that surfing?"

Lassiter rubbed his forehead. "No, I didn't. Look, Mr. Cryer, I need you to tell me about these car break-ins."

"That sucks too, man. I mean, those people had their stuff taken, right? That sucks, right?"

"Yeah, that sucks," said Lassiter, feeling a dull pain blooming behind his eyes.

"Yeah, people have weird stuff, too."

Lassiter straightened, sensing an opening. "I bet they do," he said, taking on a conversational tone. "Do you think they keep their weird stuff in their cars?"

The kid laughed. "Oh, yeah man, all kinds of crazy stuff. Underwear, toothpaste, deodorant, weird little puzzle things, like those metal puzzles, y'know, that you have to try to pull apart and stuff?"

Lassiter just nodded and tried to look encouraging, still hardly believing he could get a suspect this dumb, or stoned, or both.

"And tampons, man, lots of tampons in cars," he said, shivering.

Lassiter rolled his eyes.

"Oh, dude! I even found a gun one time."

Lassiter's eyes snapped up to the kid's like a blue whip. "What kind of a gun?" he asked sharply.

The kid blinked at the detective's sudden intense focus. "Uh, y'know, one of those revolvers. I think it was a .38."

Lassiter's heart started to race and he took a moment to compose his voice. "What did you do with this gun, after you 'found' it?"

"Donkey wanted it."

Lassiter stared, mouth open in a vaguely fish-like manner for a moment as he tried to process that statement and form a response. "Who?" he finally managed. "Who is Donkey?"

"Oh, he's my brah. He's like the brains, the man with the plan, y'know. He's the one who came up with..." the kid faltered and got silent, apparently realizing finally that he was revealing too much.

"Came up with, what?"

Mixie cleared his throat and said, "Ah, yeah, y'know I don't think I should talk about that."

Lassiter stood up and leaned over the table, looming. He allowed a dangerous edge to creep into his voice. "You do need to talk about this, right now, Mr. Cryer. You are in serious trouble here. This Donkey person may just be a suspect in an attack on a police officer and in a double murder."

The kid's eyes opened wide. "Oh shit, no way, man. I've got nothing to do with anything like that, man. No way."

"We'll see," said Lassiter, sitting back down again. "Now, you need to tell me everything, and I mean everything, about Donkey."

"Dude," said the kid, eyes still wide and staring at Lassiter. "You're like good cop and bad cop all rolled into one."

Lassiter sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, his headache coming into full bloom.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Carlton that was great!" said Juliet when Lassiter was finally able to exit the interrogation room.

"Thanks, O'Hara. He wasn't the toughest nut to crack, though," said Lassiter with a grimace. He felt like he needed a shower.

"Well, no, but he presented some other, um, difficulties for getting good information, and you figured out how to get past those really well, I thought."

Lassiter felt a warm glow from his partner's praise and gave her a small smile. "Thanks," he said. But then his expression sobered. "We need to get this Donkey character identified, as soon as possible. I think he's our guy, O'Hara."

Juliet nodded. "Yeah, too bad that kid couldn't give us anything more useful than his nickname," she said with a frown.

"I suppose we should be happy he gave us anything useful at all. Now we know that this burnout and the clown were working together on all of the beach robberies, with Donkey as the mastermind. Let's get some officers out on the beaches to look for Donkey or at least try to get more information about him. And I'd like you to go talk to the clown, see what you can dig out of him."

"Okay. What are you going to do?"

"I have some old case files to look through. Spencer helped me come up with another possible lead. The description Cryer gave of Donkey is pretty crappy, but it's better than 'wearing all black', so I'm going to see if I can find any likely suspects in the files who might match up." He shifted his weight on the crutch and realized he must have grimaced in the process.

"Good," said Juliet, eyeing him with a mothering look. "Be sure you ice your knee some more while you're at it."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"Can we go get some jerk chicken now?" whined Gus as they got into the Blueberry and pulled away from a third night club. "I'm so hungry, I could even go for Indian food."

Shawn squinted at his friend and said, "Yeah, we're done with these places, I think."

"Do you have enough information for Lassiter? It just sounds to me like this woman was really into partying. How does that help?"

Shawn pursed his lips. "I don't know, yet, but she was definitely leading a way different life before she married Joe Milktoast and moved to the suburbs. I'm just not sure that was reason enough for the name change to make sense."

"Those suburbanites can be pretty harsh. Have you seen any school board meetings lately?" He shivered.

Shawn stared at Gus like he'd suddenly sprouted another set of eyeballs, but before he could comment, his phone rang. He saw that it was his dad and sighed.

"Hey Dad, what's up?"

"Shawn, I just wanted to call and cancel dinner for tomorrow night."

Shawn blinked, feeling a sudden sense of freedom. "Oh, okay. Is anything wrong?"

"No, well, not with the dinner thing, at least. There have been some break-ins in the neighborhood over the last few days. They busted in here while I was out fishing this morning, ballsy bastards."

"What! Oh my god, Dad, is your place okay? Did they take anything?"

"Shawn, it's fine. They just busted the window out of the door. I don't think they took anything, even. They messed up the living room a bit and rifled through my desk."

"Your gun?"

"Still here. First thing I checked."

"That's good at least, but I'm sorry that happened, Dad."

"Thanks, Shawn. Listen, I gotta go pack. You be careful, now. That guy who attacked you and Lassiter is still out there."

"Yeah, I know. I'll be fine. Don't worry about it. Lock your doors and get one of those fake dog-barking alarm things."

"Bye, Shawn."

Shawn ended the call with a faintly worried look on his face.

"What happened to your dad's house?" asked Gus.

"Someone broke in. They didn't take anything, though."

"Wow, that sucks. I bet you'll feel better about it after eating. And here we are!" he said, almost drooling as he pulled into the parking lot.

Shawn's phone rang again. "It's Lassie."

"No, Shawn! No," said Gus. "I need to eat!"

"Chill, man, we'll just get orders and take dinner to the station."

Gus grimaced. "Fine, but I'm eating my fries along the way."


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Lassiter's desk, already overloaded with files and reports, now looked like the upper layers of a landfill, covered as it was with used napkins, ketchup packets and food wrappers. Lassiter had to admit, though, that the food had arrived just in time. His headache and knee ache had made him forget about his growling stomach. He'd become so irritable that he'd been starting to test even his partner's steady nerves. Food and a new dose of painkillers had worked wonders.

After they all finished sucking the last drops from their drinks and wiping the grease from their fingers, they started comparing notes. Juliet had talked to the clown, who was named Darrell Thurston, and who apparently was the mental twin of Mixie. He had proudly announced his nickname as Darth, consisting of the first letters each of his first and last names. He had also enthusiastically discussed the weird contents of women's purses. When Juliet asked him about Donkey, he had clammed up like Mixie and even had a bit more fortitude about it, not giving up any more information about the mysterious mastermind than the surfer had done.

"First of all," said Shawn. "I'm liking this whole first and last name mash-up, nickname thing. Don't you, Carlass?"

"Spencer, can we focus on the case instead of on your stupid jokes?"

"Oh, maybe it should be Calass. That does seem more appropriate."

Lassiter glared but figured it was better to change the subject than engage in the banter any more. "What did you find out about the McMullen woman?"

"My partner, Bug, and I..."

"Shawn, do not call me Bug," said Gus with a grimace.

"But it's cute, and then you can call me Shsp."

"Shawn, I can't even say whatever it is you just said."

"Will you two cut it out?" growled Lassiter.

"Okay, okay," said Shawn. "Stacy McMullen, suburbanite, was in a previous life known as Theresa Hask, major party-girl. She frequented several night clubs for several years while managing to scrape through enough classes to get a business degree. I didn't check, but I'm fairly certain she had no class that started before 1pm."

Lassiter grimaced. "Is that all?"

"Mostly. Her wild days did take place over 4 years ago, so it was hard to find people who remembered her. But those who did mentioned that she liked to hang around with the 'bad boys.'"

"That doesn't help us understand why she changed her whole name when she married."

Juliet said, "Well, her husband was from a really straight-laced, Midwestern family. Maybe they thought changing her whole name would keep them from finding out anything about her past."

"That's one theory, Julio," said Shawn, using the Spanish pronunciation of an 'h' sound for the 'j.' "But another idea I had was that perhaps she was hiding from something, or someone, from her former life."

Lassiter and Juliet both raised their eyebrows and nodded. "Good theory, Spencer," said Lassiter. "Let's run with it. So what else do we have?"

"The sunglasses," said Shawn.

Lassiter's brow furrowed. "I'm still not sure how the sunglasses play a role here. At best, aren't they just a coincidence?"

"They're a thread, running from one case to another. They connect all of the cases like a fine macrame wall-hanging."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "But they're hardly useful evidence. They are a common type of sunglasses, and the ones at the murder scene had no prints."

Shawn sighed and waved his fingers near his temple for a moment. "Trust me, Calass. They're important."

"Fine," grumped Lassiter. "Let's run through this from the beginning. First, a masked gunman attacks and takes my gun. He's using a .38 stolen from one of the car burglaries. He's most likely this Donkey character who was helping to mastermind the purse snatchings and burglaries on the beach. Presumably, Donkey then goes to the McMullen house and shoots them both, with my gun, the bastard, and..."

Juliet picked up the train of thought. "If Donkey masterminded the beach thefts, maybe he also masterminded the house break-ins."

Gus chimed in, "If so, then maybe it really was just a burglary gone bad."

"No," insisted Shawn. "He knew who Lassie was. He used his gun to kill those people. He's got some kind of personal connection to Lassie and to those people. I think he used the burglaries as a screen for the crimes he really wanted to commit."

Lassiter sighed. "Well, I haven't figured out how I'm connected to the dead couple. I've gone over the files of cons who've recently been released from prison, but nothing seems to match with anything in these cases."

"Let me see those files," said Shawn.

Lassiter gingerly picked through the sedimentary layers of papers until he'd located the files and handed them over. Shawn looked through them for a few minutes while the others cleared away the dinner mess. The more he read, the more certain he became that one of the men in the files was their attacker. But he still didn't have enough information to identify which one. The pieces were coming together, but slowly.

"See anything, Shawn?" asked Gus.

"Not yet. I was hoping one of them had a name that mashed up to Donkey, but they don't seem to, unfortunately. Are you sure there aren't more bad guys who hate you, Lassie?"

"Of course there are," said Lassiter with a hint of pride in his voice. "But those are the ones who have been released from prison over the past year. How far should I go back? Do you think this guy would plan all of these crimes out, in this much detail, and wait for more than a year to carry through?"

Shawn shrugged and said, "I don't know." He peered at one of the case files and sat up straighter. "Wait a minute. I think I remember this one. I called in a tip on it, five years ago."

Lassiter took the file and scanned it, grimacing slightly. "That was before you started working here, officially."

Shawn was looking at the other files again, following a hunch. "Here's another one."

Lassiter sighed and shook his head, suddenly understanding that he'd been plagued by Spencer even longer than just the past four years. "Any others?"

"No, I don't think so, although I did call in so very many tips," said Shawn with a sly look at the detective.

"Anyway," said Lassiter with a huff. "What does it matter that you called in the tips on these? I ask again, how does this help?"

Shawn shrugged. "It's just a...vibe. There's been something so familiar about this case so far, maybe it's because it's connected to a case I was involved in before, even if it was just to call in a tip. Can I see the full files on these two? Evidence and everything from the crimes that got them convicted?"

"Knock yourself out. Get McNab to help you find all of the stuff."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

An hour and a half later, Lassiter and Juliet heard a whoop erupt from the records room, followed quickly by an excited Shawn and Gus who ran up the stairs, skidded to a stop at Lassiter's desk and proceeded to bounce on their toes.

Lassiter watched them for a moment, eyebrows raised expectantly. Finally, he said, "Did you find something, need I ask?"

Shawn, striking the standard pose, launched his explanation. "The spirits are hungry, Lassie. They're ravenous, and they're craving fast food."

"Yeah they are," said Gus, doing his standard backup for Shawn's performance. He was holding a file folder in his hand, waiting to hand it over after the "big reveal."

Lassiter blinked and waited. Juliet crossed her arms and watched Shawn expectantly.

"I can see Mayor McCheese telling Officer Big Mac to get that Hamburglar case solved!"

"McDonalds. What about it?" asked Lassiter, not feeling patient enough to wait for Shawn's antics to play out fully.

"The spirits are on a first-name basis, Lassie."

Lassiter sighed.

"Ronald McDonald?" asked Juliet.

"Yes! Get that lady a Happy Meal."

"Spencer, what the hell are you getting at? Can we skip to the end here, please?"

Shawn sighed and both he and Gus sat down. "Don't be such a Grimace. It's Ronald Keaton."

Lassiter's eyebrows knitted. He took the file folder that Gus handed over to him and opened it. "Ronald Keaton. Assault case. He got five years, and was just released two months ago. What makes you think it's him? And what's that got to do with all the McDonalds ballyhoo?"

Shawn leaned over and whispered to Gus, "Did he just say 'ballyhoo?'"

"Yes, he did," said Gus.

Shawn turned back to Lassiter and Juliet and said, "Ronald Keaton, otherwise knows as Ronald D. Keaton, otherwise known as Ronald *Donald* Keaton."

Lassiter and Juliet looked at each other and then back to Shawn. "Really? Who names their kid Ronald Donald?" asked Juliet with an expression of dismay.

"Ronald Donald Keaton," said Lassiter. "Donald Keaton. Donkey."

"Get that man a Happy Meal!" said Gus.

"Did you find anything else, besides the name?" asked Lassiter, eyes lighting up with the idea of finally having a suspect as he gazed hungrily at the information in the file.

"He was convicted of aggravated assault, but the information in the files shows that he was suspected of being part of a burglary ring," said Shawn.

"Yeah, I think I remember that now. We were investigating the burglaries. There were a couple of kids arrested for breaking into the homes, and they mentioned that a guy was directing them, telling them where to go and what to do."

"A mastermind," said Shawn.

Lassiter nodded. "We had just started suspecting Keaton, with the help of a phone tip," he said, looking at Shawn.

"Yeah, I noticed his car trolling all of the neighborhoods that were being hit."

Lassiter's eyebrows went up. "You went to the neighborhoods?"

Shawn shrugged. "They were on my way," he said vaguely.

Lassiter considered asking more details about Shawn's apparent industriousness, but his excitement at figuring out who his attacker had been won out. He stood up and started pacing, almost forgetting his knee. "So he's done this before. He manipulates some kids to commit robberies, presumably taking cuts of the profit. But how does that translate to the attack on us, and to murder?"

"That's where it gets good," said Shawn. "The spirits are whispering that Keaton had more going on than just theft. He was using the burglaries to mask his other activities. Namely, murder-for-hire."

"You mean the McMullens?" asked Lassiter.

"Yes, in this case. Well, sort of. See, there were two unsolved murders five years ago, and both victims lived in neighborhoods where houses were being robbed."

Lassiter stopped pacing as the implications sunk in. "So, Keaton organized burglary rings, used the kids committing the robberies as patsies, and used the robberies as a smokescreen for committing murders."

"The two older murder cases looked like hits," said Shawn. "One victim had connections to a drug dealer, and the other owed a huge amount to a bookie."

"We didn't suspect him of anything like that at the time. Maybe it's because we caught him on the aggravated assault and didn't look further."

Shawn grinned. "But that's the best part of all. You caught him in the middle of a hit!"

Lassiter's jaw dropped as he remembered the arrest. "Oh my god. The guy he was confronting had a drug record. Keaton had a gun, but we got there before he could use it on the victim. I remember now. I thought it was odd that Keaton had no drug record and no other apparent connections to the vicitm. But we had enough to get him on aggravated assault, so that was that."

"And do you remember why you got there just in the nick of time?"

"We had an anonymous tip, but that wasn't you," said Lassiter, eyebrows furrowed.

"No."

"It was a woman."

"Yes. And dare I say, it was a woman who had a thing for bad boys," said Shawn.

Juliet gasped. Gus grinned. Lassiter sat down as all of the connections clicked into place.

"Theresa Hask. She tipped us off, so he'd be caught. Then she changed her name and started a new life."

Shawn nodded. "Possibly aided by some of the money he'd made on the previous hits."

"Unbelievable," said Lassiter, still stunned at how all of the pieces fit together. "Good work, Spencer."

Shawn smiled as he and Gus exchanged a fistbump. Juliet went to her desk to make calls and start mobilizing officers in the search for Keaton.

"But what made you look at the unsolved murder cases?" asked Lassiter.

Shawn shrugged. "They called to me, once I'd figured out it was Keaton. I was drawn to the unsolved cases, and there it was, the final clue, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the cream in the creamsicle."

"Spencer."

"The photos from the crime scenes, in both murder cases, showed a pair of Ray Ban Wayfarer sunglasses lying near the victims."

Lassiter laughed. "Good grief."

"His calling card, I guess," said Shawn.

Juliet came back, a puzzled look on her face. "Carlton, there's something strange happening. There have been several shots fired calls reported in the past 15 minutes. Most available officers are occupied checking these calls. So far, none of them have been real."

Just then, Chief Vick opened her office door and beckoned to Lassiter and Juliet. "I need to see you two, please."

The two detectives went into the Chief's office as Shawn and Gus stood up.

"Wow," said Gus. "What's that about?"

"Pranks?" said Shawn.

Buzz McNab approached, looking harried and carrying a small package. "Shawn, someone left this for you at the front desk."

"What? Who?"

"I didn't see who it was. The officer who accepted it said it was a guy wearing sunglasses. Kind of strange, isn't it? It's nighttime," said McNab with a shrug.

Gus squeaked as Shawn's jaw dropped. McNab rushed off, preoccupied by the prank calls and not noticing their shocked reactions.

Shawn started to open the package, which appeared to be something smallish just rolled up in plain brown paper. 

"What are you doing? That could be a bomb or something!"

"Gus, it's not a bomb"

"How do you know?"

Shawn unrolled the brown wrapping paper and held up a pair of sunglasses.

"What the hell?" said Gus. "Those aren't even Ray Bans."

"No," said Shawn, voice suddenly raspy as his throat tightened uncomfortably. "They're my dad's."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

Gus stared at Shawn, expression hovering between worried and confused. Shawn was gazing down at the sunglasses in his hand, the brown paper wrapping still held loosely in his other hand.

"Shawn, what does that mean?" Gus finally asked.

Shawn kept his eyes down, and Gus started to tip more towards the worried end of the spectrum.

"I'm not sure, yet, buddy," said Shawn. His voice sounded like he was trying to sound normal. "But, I need a huge favor right now." He finally looked up at Gus with a neutral expression that Gus could tell was forced. "I need to borrow your car."

Gus drew in a sharp breath. "Shawn..."

"Please, man. It's no big deal. Seriously. I'm dead serious here, Gus. I just need to borrow your car, really quick."

"Don't say dead."

Shawn sighed, some exasperation, or maybe desperation, leaking through. "Gus, don't be an untied shoelace that's been dragged through a mud puddle. Just let me use your car for, like, a half hour. Please!"

Gus grimaced, but Shawn's use of one of his standard jokes eased his mind slightly. "Well, I guess you can. Where are you going? Is this about the case, and the sunglasses?"

"Seriously, man, just a quick errand. Don't worry about it. I'll call you when I'm done."

"Damn it, Shawn, if you go off and get into trouble..." he began, but he left the threat hanging, because he wasn't really sure how to finish it anyway. If Shawn got into trouble, it'd be a normal day. Gus dug the keys out of his pocket and handed them to his friend, hoping fervently that he wasn't making a mistake. "Are you going right now? What should I tell Juliet and Lassiter?"

"Just tell them I'll be back soon. Thanks buddy!" He turned and practically ran out of the station. Gus felt a cold lump of dread drop into his stomach as he watched him go.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

"He WHAT?" yelled Lassiter, jumping to his feet and then adding a small hop as his knee protested.

"Carlton, calm down," said Juliet.

"Yes, please, detective," said Vick, rubbing at the ear that was still ringing from Lassiter's volume.

Lassiter bared his teeth and waved a hand in frustration, but then he took a breath and calmed his voice. "Guster, where did Spencer go?"

Gus fidgeted in the office doorway, growing more agitated by the moment. "I don't know. He just said he had to run an errand."

"Now, let me get this straight," said Vick. "Shawn received a package, here at the station, which you think may have been dropped off by this suspect, Keaton?"

"I guess so. McNab gave us the package and said the guy who dropped it off was wearing sunglasses."

"And that's why you think it may have been Keaton? Couldn't it just have been a person who found these, you said they were sunglasses, in the package? Couldn't it be someone who came upon them and knew he could reach Shawn here to return them?"

"All due respect, Chief, that's not very likely either," said Lassiter who started to pace as he spoke, limping heavily. "If this was just a person who knew the sunglasses belonged to Henry, why wouldn't he just take them back to Henry? No, I believe that the person who delivered the package here was Keaton."

Juliet saw the skepticism on Vick's face and decided to throw in her support. "I agree, Chief. This seems too coincidental to not be related to the case."

"But why would he send Shawn his father's sunglasses?"

Lassiter's brow furrowed as he paused and leaned against the back of a chair. "I'm not sure. This guy seems to really like toying with us. Maybe it's some kind of taunt. He must've figured out that Shawn helped us on his prior case."

Gus's face suddenly lit up. "Oh! I remember earlier that Shawn's dad called and told him his house had been burgled just this morning. I guess he said there's been a string of break-ins in his neighborhood."

"Bingo!" said Lassiter. "Keaton probably broke into Henry's house himself, after setting up the screen of other burglaries in the area. He probably got the sunglasses then, and sent them to Shawn tonight."

Juliet looked confused. "But why? What's the point of taunting Shawn about robbing his father's house? And where did Shawn go, if this was just a taunt?"

They all thought about it for a few moments. Juliet and Vick were still seated across from each other at Vick's desk. Lassiter was leaning against a chair, and Gus was hovering in the doorway, hands in his pockets, looking like he wanted to turn back time and not give his friend his car keys. Behind Gus, there was a flurry of activity as the phones kept ringing and officers rushed around in the midst of the prank calls.

"Gus, was there a note or anything?" asked Juliet. "Shawn didn't get a call?"

Gus thought for a moment, remembering how Shawn had stared down at the sunglasses in his hand. But then he suddenly remembered the glasses weren't the only things in Shawn's hands. "Oh my god!" he said. "The wrapping. Shawn was holding the glasses and the wrapping and looking down at them for a long time. I thought it was odd. I couldn't see it, but maybe there was something written on the wrapping!"

Chief Vick sighed and rubbed her temples. She could see her messages flashing and felt the pressure of the rash of prank calls building up around her. "I'm sorry, detectives, Mr. Guster, but this whole situation is just a bit too amorphous right now. And we have another, very serious, issue we need to attend to immediately. These calls are straining our resources, and they don't appear to be slowing. We need to figure out where these calls are coming from and get them stopped."

Lassiter put his hands on his head and took a deep breath, the agitation that was building up in him painfully obvious. "Chief, please, we have to follow up on this. If it's Keaton, the bastard actually walked in here, right under our noses! And whatever this message was to Spencer, whether it was just the glasses or whether there was a note, it was enough to get him to leave without telling us. You know as well as I do that's a bad sign."

Vick sighed and nodded. "Yes, and if he didn't even tell Mr. Guster here, that's a really bad sign," she said. "Okay, I can spare you and O'Hara for this, but I cannot give you anyone else at this time. Go find Shawn. If this does seem to be a more serious situation, then call in and we'll send whomever we can to back you up. Be careful."

"Thank you, Chief," said Juliet as she stood and headed out of the office on Gus's heels.

"Thank you, Chief," said Lassiter as he limped after his partner.

The three of them convened around Lassiter's desk to figure out their next move. Lassiter sat heavily in his chair, rubbing absently at his right leg. Juliet and Gus stood together on the other side of the desk.

Gus got a frightened look on his face. "Do you think this guy has done something to Shawn's dad?"

Juliet and Lassiter exchanged a concerned look. "I don't know, Gus," said Juliet. "We can't be sure, but do you think if Shawn thought his father was in danger he'd just leave without asking us for help?"

"Maybe the note said something like 'don't bring help.'"

"Since when has Spencer ever done anything he's told?" asked Lassiter. "And besides, Henry Spencer is one tough cookie. This guy has been smart, but I'm not sure he's smart enough to take on Henry."

Gus nodded, looking slightly placated. "Well, where did Shawn go then?"

"We're not going to figure that out sitting around here," said Lassiter, standing again and putting on his suit coat. He adjusted the coat and did a quick check of his shoulder holster and weapon. "Let's go find him."

"Where should we start?" asked Juliet.

"We should split up so we can cover more ground. Just keep in touch. If anything seems off, call immediately so we can back each other up. O'Hara, start with the Psych office. Guster and I will head to Henry's house."

Juliet nodded. "Okay guys, be careful." She walked over to her desk to retrieve her cell phone and then headed out.

"Guster," said Lassiter. "I'm going to need you to drive my car."

Gus nodded, looking a bit anxious at the idea of driving a police car. "Of course. No problem."

"I would appreciate it if you didn't get any dents or scratches on it," said Lassiter as he limped past Gus on the way to the door.

Gus huffed. "Excuse me? Have you not seen the care I've taken with my Echo these past few years?" he said indignantly. "I'm a very good driver."

Lassiter paused, suddenly struck with the notion of making a reference to the movie _Rain Man_ based on what Guster had just said. His ex-wife had loved that movie, and he'd had to watch it more than once. The idea, however, reminded him of Spencer's constant movie references. The thought that he might behave even a tiny bit like Spencer sent a small shiver down his spine.

Gus stepped up next to him and asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he said gruffly. "Let's go."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Lassiter moved slowly into Henry's house, with Gus trailing a bit behind. He had his hand hovering near his holster, just in case. The lights were on in the kitchen and living room, but otherwise the house was empty. When they'd pulled in the driveway, it was obvious that the blue Echo was absent, if it had been there at all. Gus had hissed a quiet 'dammit' when it was clear that Shawn wasn't there. They'd noticed, however, that Henry's truck was parked in its normal spot. Despite his words at the station, Lassiter was feeling a knot of apprehension about Henry Spencer. It was possible that Keaton had come after him, though he still didn't believe, or maybe he was just fervently hoping, that wasn't the case. But the house being unlocked, and Henry's truck still being here, without Henry, weren't good signs.

"What a mess," said Gus, as he took in the scattered chaos of Henry's living room. "I guess he didn't have time to clean up before, well, before...oh hell."

"Settle down, Guster. There's still no evidence of foul play, other than the mess left by the burglars. Just keep your eyes open for anything that might tell us if Shawn was here."

Gus wandered around the kitchen, scanning the counters and the small table. Lassiter stood in the living room, turning slowly to take in all of the details, trying to look behind the clutter. He could see the pattern the burglars had taken, opening cabinet doors and just pulling everything out, spreading things out on the couch and coffee table. _But why go through all of that work to take nothing? Maybe they were looking for something specific that they didn't find, or they found something small that Henry hadn't realized was missing_. Lassiter sighed. As his eyes scanned over the couch one more time, though, he froze.

"Guster, did Henry say anything about his gun?"

"I heard Shawn ask him about it. He'd said it wasn't taken."

Lassiter drew in a breath as a cold wave washed over him. "Shawn was here, then," he said ominously as he limped over to the couch and picked up the handgun case he'd spotted. It was empty. "He took Henry's gun."

Gus had been staring intently at something on the kitchen wall, but at Lassiter's words he flinched. "He WHAT? Oh my god."

"I guess the note did say 'don't bring help,' and he's decided to deal with this alone. The idiot," said Lassiter, stomach sinking at the thought of Shawn with a gun, and of whatever might be happening to Henry.

Gus was shaking his head as if he still couldn't wrap his mind around the situation. But then he blinked and said, "But, I don't think Keaton has done anything to Shawn's dad after all. Look at the calendar. He marked off a camping trip, set for today. It says 'Camping, pickup at 6PM.' His friends probably picked him up, and that's why his truck is still here."

Lassiter limped into the kitchen to examine the calendar. "So, Henry's just gone camping? Shawn didn't know about it?"

"Probably not," said Gus with a grimace. "You know how they are."

Lassiter rolled his eyes. "I don't get those two."

Gus shrugged. "It's...complicated."

"What's the deal with Keaton then? What did the note say to get Spencer so worked up?"

"Maybe Keaton did say he'd done something to Shawn's dad, just as a way to bait him? I mean, we can't be 100% sure he hasn't done something to Henry, can we? Shawn couldn't know either."

Lassiter ran his fingers through his hair, feeling exasperated. "Yeah, we can't know anything for sure, until we find Shawn. And now he's running around with a gun." He almost said 'can it get any worse?' but stopped himself, because he already knew the answer to that one.

"Let's look at this from Shawn's point of view," said Lassiter. "He got the note, presumably saying something threatening about Henry. Shawn comes here, doesn't find his dad, so he gets the gun...and where does he go?"

"Maybe the note did say where to go and he came here specifically for the gun," said Gus. "But that hardly makes sense. The last thing Shawn would ever want to do is use a gun. He's a great shot, but he hates them. I don't think he could ever actually shoot a person."

Lassiter grimaced, unable to identify with that kind of attitude. He didn't like having to shoot people, but when it came to protecting the innocent, and himself, he had no qualms about it. _Just another reason Spencer didn't become a cop I suppose_.

"That note must've really gotten under his skin," Gus continued.

"Keaton won't know how Spencer feels about guns. But if he took it for leverage, and he won't actually use it, that's a big gamble."

Gus nodded, looking desolate.

"Let's go," said Lassiter as he headed out of the house.

"Where?"

"Where else would Henry Spencer be, if not here?"

"His boat," said Gus as he followed Lassie outside and they got into the car.

"Seems to be our best option right now," said Lassiter. He dialed his phone as Gus started to drive towards the marina. "O'Hara, did you find anything at the Psych office?"

"Nothing. No sign of Shawn here at all. How about you?"

"He was here and gone again, and it looks like he took Henry's gun," he said, hearing Juliet's sharp intake of breath at the news. "We're heading to the marina next. One other thing we found. It looks like Henry may not even be in town right now. He had a camping trip marked on his calendar. Keaton may be leading Spencer, and us, on a wild goose chase. But we can't be sure, yet."

"I understand. Carlton, I just got a call from dispatch that one of the shots fired reports was called in just around the corner from where I am right now. They want me to check it, since I'm so close. Do you want to wait for me at the marina?"

"Just get there as soon as you can."

"Okay partner. Be careful."

"You too."

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

_Spencer, you're an idiot_. Shawn wasn't sure if it was hilarious or horrifying that his internal, self-criticizing voice had started sounding like Lassiter now as often as it sounded like his dad. He decided it was both. He held the gun steady, aimed squarely at the man's chest, finger not on the trigger but ready to slip onto it, and he knew, in his core, that he'd never be able to actually shoot the guy, if it came to it. _Moron!_

"So, my dad isn't here, and never was. The note was just a screen, like all the other screens you've used," said Shawn. He was trying to figure out what to do next. Stalling for time seemed the best option. Hopefully, Lassie and Jules and Gus would figure out where he'd run off to and come to the rescue.

The man Shawn was holding at bay smiled brightly, obviously enjoying himself way too much. Ronald Keaton was standing a dozen feet away from Shawn on the pier. He had a boat hook that Shawn assumed he'd gotten from his dad's boat, and he was holding it almost like a walking stick, both hands on it while he leaned against it nonchalantly.

"Oh, that reminds me," said Keaton, as he dug around in the messenger bag he had slung over his shoulder. "Excuse me for just a moment while I make a call." He pulled a small cell phone out of the bag and flipped it open with one hand. "Hello, I'm calling to report some really loud sounds that just went off next door. I think it may have been gun shots! Please, send someone to look. I'm at 2743 Willowcreek Court." He flipped the phone closed, grinning broadly, and then tossed it off the pier into the water behind Henry's boat. "Damn that's fun. Whoever invented prepaid cell phones was a freaking saint."

Shawn grimaced. He studied Keaton, trying to get an idea of what made him tick. He was in his 40s, with short, thinning black hair. He was about 5'9" and looked for all the world like he should be selling insurance out of a cubicle somewhere. He had a strange athleticism about him, though, a smoothness when he moved which made Shawn suspect that the man had some martial arts training. _Great, I'm probably holding a gun on the shorter, slightly less pudgy version of Steven Segall. No wonder he doesn't look worried at all_. Ten minutes earlier, Shawn had arrived at the marina and had run directly to his dad's boat. Gun drawn, he'd boarded and searched, but had found nothing except a large duffel bag sitting on the deck. Once he'd been sure his dad wasn't on board, he'd started to look in the bag, but Keaton had approached on the pier. Shawn had stepped off the boat to face Keaton, and that's how they'd ended up in their current standoff.

"Now, Shawn," drawled Keaton. "You obviously found your father's gun, so I assume you brought the boat keys like I asked. Hand them to me and I'll be on my way. No harm, no foul."

Shawn scoffed. "No harm except for several murders and dozens of robberies. Not to mention the mugging of a police officer."

"And the stealing of an ex-police officer's boat. But you forgot the 'allegedly' on all of those charges, because I'm pretty sure there's not enough evidence against me on any of them. Just give me the keys now. It's no use stalling any more."

"Oh, I always find stalling useful. It helps me avoid so many, many lame things. So that duffel bag on the boat is full of cash I take it? Your earnings from those hit jobs five years ago?"

Keaton grinned. "I've been checking up on you too, you know. You and that psychic business con game you're running. You've got a lot of talent, and you've gotten yourself burrowed in with the police. Did you help them with my case? I've been curious about that."

Shawn shrugged, wondering what Keaton was getting at. "I wasn't officially working for the SBPD for your case."

"That's not a 'no.'"

"I may have called in a tip," said Shawn. He kept looking past Keaton down the pier, fervently hoping to see Lassie and Jules running in like Batman and Catwoman to the rescue. Especially the Catwoman part.

Keaton was eyeing Shawn intently. He changed his grip on the boat hook slightly and Shawn snapped his focus back to the murderer.

"Put that thing down," said Shawn.

"Make me."

Shawn sighed, feeling his arms starting to shake with the effort of holding the gun up for so long. He wondered if Keaton was just waiting for him to tire. Maybe Keaton was the one doing the stalling. Shawn shivered at the thought.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Lassiter limped slowly down the pier, keeping close to structures and stacks of boxes, squinting as he tried to see if there was anyone up ahead. The bright pools of light from the security lights made the dark areas in between even darker. He hoped that O'Hara would show up soon for backup, just in case something was happening at Henry's boat. Gus had protested, but only a little bit, about having to stay with the car to help guide Juliet if and when she arrived. The last thing he needed right now was a cowering civilian on his heels as he walked into an unknown situation.

As he got further down the pier, he was finally able to see the boat, and that's when he saw the two figures. The figure next to Henry's boat had a gun drawn on the other figure who was standing in the middle of the pier and whose back was mostly to Lassiter. He realized it was Shawn holding the gun, and he drew his own weapon, pausing for a moment to try to figure out the situation. The other man was obviously Keaton, or Shawn wouldn't be holding a gun on him. They seemed to be at a stalemate. _Not for long_.

**oOoOoOoOoOoOoO**

Keaton's grin was starting to look predatory. "You know, if we worked together, we could do amazing things."

Shawn scoffed. Suddenly, he caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. Someone was coming towards them on the pier. Shawn felt a rush of relief when he recognized the figure's pronounced limp.

Keaton noticed Shawn's reaction and glanced down the pier. The smile on his face faded slightly and he shifted his stance. "You really shouldn't have told your friends. This won't end well."

"I didn't, asshole," said Shawn. Then he raised his voice. "Lassie! Look who I got here. Someone you've been wanting to meet. Again. Because I guess you met him before when you arrested him, y'know, before."

Lassiter approached the pair, weapon drawn as well and aimed at Keaton. He was trying to stay towards the edge of the pier to have a better angle on Keaton without risking a crossfire with Shawn. "Spencer, is your father here?"

"No," said Shawn with a sour look on his face. He was still pissed off at himself for getting fooled.

"All right, Keaton. Put that stick down and get on your knees. You're under arrest."

"Hello, again, detective. Since you are so conveniently here," he said with a venomous look at Shawn. "I wanted to thank you for the use of your gun. It was satisfying to be able to resolve my past relationships so neatly. Now I can really start fresh."

Lassiter sneered. "Sure, a nice, fresh life sentence in prison, you bastard. Now put down that stick."

Keaton was studying Lassiter and Shawn intensely. Lassiter continued to approach slowly, one step at a time, and he started to side-step along the edge of the pier to maintain a good angle. Keaton eyed Lassiter's injured knee and made no move to comply with his order. Shawn watched how Keaton was watching them and got the sudden, sinking feeling that he was measuring distances. And Lassie was beginning to get into range of a swing of the boat hook.

"Lassie, stop," said Shawn.

Lassiter paused, eyes flicking briefly from Keaton to Shawn. "Why?"

"Because..."started Shawn, but Keaton interrupted.

"I bet it's frustrating, detective, to have a smartass like this guy around who thinks he can do your job better than you."

Lassiter's gaze snapped back to Keaton. "Put that stick down and put your hands behind your head," he said with his most authoritative voice.

"I mean, does he really solve all of your crimes for you now?" continued Keaton, still ignoring Lassiter's orders.

"Put the bag and the stick down. Get on your knees, and put your hands behind your head."

Keaton let out an exaggerated sigh and looked at Shawn. "No wonder you have to do all the work. This guy's really got a stick up his..."

"Shut up," said Shawn, seeing through Keaton's taunts. "Lassie he's trying to make you mad so he..." 

"I know, Spencer."

"No, I mean I think he can..."

"So you really don't care, detective, that this snotty kid solves crime better than you?"

"All I care about is people like you getting locked up. However that happens, within the law, is fine by me," said Lassiter sincerely. "Now, put down that bag and stick."

Keaton laughed and shifted his stance again, shooting a look of malevolence at Shawn. "Well, that was very precious," he said as he shifted the bag on his shoulder. "Here you go then." He slipped the bag off of his shoulder, but instead of easing it to the pier with the handle he turned it over with a quick flick so that it opened up, spilling its contents towards Lassiter. A dozen cell phones clattered and bounced on the pier, looking vaguely like flopping fish.

As the phones skidded across the wood, Keaton sprang. He took a quick step towards Lassiter, ducking low, and twisted to carry through a two-handed swing of the boat hook that connected squarely with Lassiter's right knee. Lassiter cried out as his legs were swept from underneath him. He landed hard on his right side just at the edge of the pier, catching himself partly with his right elbow. His gun fell out of his hand and skittered several feet away to rest on the lip of the pier. He looked up just as Keaton was swinging the boat hook over his head. He pulled his arms up to cover his head as Keaton delivered a vicious blow to his ribs.

"Stop it!" yelled Shawn, staring with horror at the scene. Keaton had moved unbelievably fast. "Stop!" He aimed the gun carefully and pulled the trigger.

Keaton landed another blow to Lassiter's ribs before shoving the detective off of the pier with his foot. He looked at Shawn with a feral grin and said, "You missed."

Shawn heard Lassiter's strangled yelp and saw the splash of water as he disappeared over the side. He felt his stomach twist. _I should've shot him._ But then he saw that Keaton had turned to him and was approaching like a stalking cat. Shawn raised the gun again. "Stop, now," he said, dismayed to hear a tremor in his voice.

"Make me. You're obviously not going to shoot me, or you would've done it before." Keaton raised the boat hook and continued to approach.

Shawn aimed and fired, this time hitting the target he'd been aiming at before. Keaton hissed and the boat hook flew out of his grip as the bullet impacted it. "Got it that time," said Shawn.

There was a faint splashing sound next to the pier, and Shawn felt a quick wave of relief. _Lassie's swimming_. His relief turned to a cold spike of dread when he noticed Keaton reaching around behind his back. _Oh no, he has the .38_. Shawn pointed his gun at Keaton's chest as the other man started to swing his arm towards Shawn. Everything seemed to move in slow motion as Shawn watched the hand with the gun arcing around to come into line with his body. He felt his finger slip to the trigger of his father's gun and start to squeeze. He heard a loud bang and flinched. Then another bang in quick succession. He saw Keaton jerk, and he wasn't sure for a moment which gun or guns had fired as the surreal slow motion continued. _Did we both shoot? Are we both dead?_ Then he saw Keaton go slack and fall to the pier.

His heart felt like it stopped at the thought that he'd shot someone, but when he looked at his gun his finger was off of the trigger. He hadn't fired. Elation and confusion coursed through him as his eyes finally landed on Lassiter. The detective was hanging just over the edge of the pier, chin on the wood and both arms outstretched with his gun still aimed at Keaton's crumpled form.

"Holy, holy CRAP! LASSIE! Oh my god, did you really shoot him? Twice? Wait, you got him twice, right? Or am I shot?" He looked down and patted his chest, not finding any mortal wounds. "That's amazing!"

Water was still sluicing down Lassiter's face, and his teeth were bared as he gritted out, "Thanks Spencer, but would you get his damned gun now and get me out of here?"

"Oh my god, I can't believe it." Shawn inched towards Keaton and reached down to retrieve the .38. Keaton's eyes were open and blank, and Shawn's euphoria broke. He started to feel the trembling after-effects of adrenalin. "Can't believe it," he said again under his breath, suddenly feeling almost nauseous as his emotions started to yo-yo.

He turned and ran to the edge of the pier where Lassiter was struggling to pull himself up. "Come on out of there before you get all pruney." He put the guns down and pulled at Lassiter's upper arms while the detective got his left leg up and over the edge of the pier.

Lassiter rolled onto his back and groaned, feeling a sharp poking in his ribs when he breathed in too deeply. Shawn sat down heavily next to him, forearms resting on his knees.

"Spencer if you ever..." Lassiter began, but then he looked at Shawn's face and saw the turmoil of emotions playing over it. "Never mind," he said tiredly.

"Lassie?" said Shawn.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," he said, meeting Lassiter's eyes with a sober look.

"It's my job, Shawn. It's what I do," he said quietly. Then a sad expression crossed his face for a moment. "Sometimes, it's what I have to do."

Shawn nodded and glanced at the guns lying on the pier next to him. "Thank you for doing what you have to do." He looked towards Keaton's body and saw the scattered cell phones, noticing for the first time that among them lay a pair of Ray Bans. He took in a deep breath, feeling like it was the first breath he'd taken in a long time.

The sound of footsteps reached them, and Juliet yelled, "Carlton! Shawn!" She and Gus came running up to them. Juliet had her weapon out, but she holstered it again when she saw the body on the pier. "Oh my god, are you guys okay? Carlton?"

"I'm fine, O'Hara," he said as he sat up, groaning at the effort and holding his right arm tight across his ribs. His clothes were still dripping into the puddle that had formed around him. Juliet walked over to Keaton's body and pulled out her phone.

"Yeah, you look fine too," said Gus with an edge of exasperated sarcasm. "Shawn, are you okay? Did you shoot that guy?" His voice rose to a near-squeak with his last question.

"No, Aqua-Lassie did."

Lassiter rolled his eyes as he wrung the water out of his tie.

"Oh, good," said Gus with relief.

Shawn jumped up and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "And here you are again, coming to my rescue," he said with a grin, feeling the emotional yo-yo tipping back to elation. Then he waved his hand at Lassie. "Both of you. You're like Tenspeed and Brownshoe!"

Gus's forehead wrinkled and he shook his head. "Unh-uh."

"Ponch and John?"

"Ehhh..."

"Hey, what about me?" said Juliet, finished with her call to the station.

"Okay, then it has to be Batman and Robin, so Jules here can be Catwoman."

Juliet rolled her eyes. "In your dreams, Shawn."

"Quite often, Jules."

Gus and Lassiter both groaned. Juliet leaned over to check on her partner, patting him on the back for his good shooting. Shawn started to bounce on his toes with excess energy. He bantered with Gus about the various other pairs and teams of crime fighters they could compare themselves to until the sounds of sirens reached them from the shore.

The End


End file.
